


Unfamiliar Territory

by ominousrum



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, Morning After, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-09-24 21:40:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9788270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ominousrum/pseuds/ominousrum
Summary: Emma Swan doesn't usually entertain more than a one-time fling..





	

**Author's Note:**

> music note prompt from xpumpkindumplingx on tumblr - inspired by the Liz Phair song Fuck & Run

For a brief moment Emma Swan thinks she’s at home. The sunlight hits her face in the same spot and the softness of the sheets feel familiar. Then  someone nuzzles into her hair and her heart goes from zero to full-fledged pounding, skin prickling into panic. 

_Fuck_ she thinks as she carefully peers over her should to get a good look at her most recent conquest. An impossibly blue eye catches her, its corresponding eyebrow already raised.

“G’mornin’, love.” comes his greeting, his accent shooting an involuntary ripple of pleasure through her veins. He rolls on his back, managing to keep his hand tangled in her hair, thumb lightly stroking circles. 

She turns her head back to her side and squints at digital alarm clock burning a red 7:05. Last night slowly worms its way back into her mind as she curls her toes and stifles a yawn. Devilishly handsome man she hadn’t seen before at her local bar gave her the eye. His opening gambit was to offer her a pretzel via his prosthetic hand - a moveable piece of curved metal resembling a hook. Several drinks, dozens of bad puns and a heated debate about Battle Royale later and they had crashed into each other.

 _(Christ, had they ever_. She’d lost count at five orgasms and would be surprised if she could walk properly once she dragged herself out of his bed). 

Mistake number one had been ending up at his apartment. She was used to having the home advantage, the easy “Here’s a cup of coffee, thanks for last night.” hand off she’d perfected. That was if they even bothered to wait for her alarm to buzz their reprieve; half the time she woke to an empty space and the occasional scribbled note in the kitchen. 

Emma learned to condition herself to expect their retreat. She could almost smell it on them the minute they woke up. The fear that she would ask them to stay, to ask them for more was always palpable. 

The momentary disappointment when his hand leaves her scalp catches her off guard, the warmth curling to leave its mark on her heart. (There’s mistake number two). She can hear him scuffle for his brace as what she imagines can only be his phone beeps insistently. 

_Shit.  
_

The bed creaks and he’s off to the bathroom. Killian, she reminds herself. His name is fucking _Killia_ n of all things. Killian fucking Jones. As if she needed more ammunition to romanticize their encounter. 

She kicks the sheets away from her practically leaps off the bed to search for her clothes. Sweater and bra are balled together in a heap on the floor, her underwear she thankfully had the wherewithal to put back on last night. She finally finds her jeans splayed rather magnificently across the curtain rod. 

“I’m sorry, love, but I have an urgent matter to attend to.” His voice lilting into the room amidst the running water of the bathroom sink.  

Emma blinks as reality crashes into her. It’s a fucking Tuesday for fuck’s sake. Even if he wasn’t looking to get her out of his apartment ASAP, of course people worked for a living, people had schedules to keep and things to do that didn’t involve entertaining one night stands. 

It always played out like this, Emma swallowed down a bitter laugh. Expecting it, hell even actively steering things in that direction, didn’t make it hurt any less. She knew this was never going to end up with declarations of love or sharing a milkshake at a goddamn malt shop or some bullshit, but as time went on she felt increasingly uncomfortable with not being the girlfriend type.  

What the fuck would that even _be_? It’s not like the thought of relationships didn’t terrify her to a point anyway. They just terrified her slightly less year by year. Maybe if she ever stumbled on the perfect boyfriend she’d know. Maybe she wouldn’t go running for the hills. (Probably not). 

She’s lacing her boots as when he walks back in the room, and he manages to cover his shock with nothing more than the raising of his eyebrows at her. The steel grey of his shirt and the black of his trousers somehow make him even more gorgeous in the light of day. _Fuckity fuck fuck._

Kudos to him for not setting her fear-detector blaring at first glance. His grin bordering on serene as it danced across his lips. 

“I’m sorry to have to rush out like this, I was hoping we’d have more time together this morning.” His eyes barely leave the phone in his hand to meet her hers.

Her heart doesn’t sink so much as hardens in response as she flashes him a smile. “Don’t worry about it. I should get going, anyway.” She stands there a moment, awkwardly thinking about stopping to give him a hug before he speaks. 

“No, you should stay for breakfast. I’ve got- bollocks, I’ve only got coffee and maybe some cereal, but please help yourself.” Killian crosses the room to place a hand on the small of her back as they step out of the bedroom. “I wish I could stay. Truthfully I wish neither of us had to even get dressed, love.”

Emma blushes despite herself at his sly wink, even as she’s shrugging his offer of breakfast away, purse already slung over her shoulder. 

“Promise me you’ll at least make yourself some coffee? The spare key is under the mat, you can just lock things up on your way out.”

“There’s a Starbucks within a 5 mile radius of anywhere in this city, I’m sure I can get my coffee fix with minimal effort.”

“Ah but I have real coffee that will make you forget Starbucks exists.” Killian slips into his leather jacket, eyes gleaming, toeing into his shoes. She pouts for a second when she realizes he won’t be bending down. 

“Sugar?”

He makes a point then to kiss her full on the lips, his tongue leaving a trail of spearmint in its wake. _Jesus._

“I daresay I also have actual sugar somewhere in the cupboard, yes.” 

She rolls her eyes and turns to peek at the kitchen as he’s rushing out the door. She’s chewing her bottom lip trying to decide if she should give in to the idea of using a French press as his head pops back into view.

“Oh and Emma?” 

“Hmm?”

“I hope I get to see you again. At the very least I need to make sure you read Battle Royale.”

***

 

Two cups of remarkably tasty coffee in her and all bets were well and truly off. She finds his copy of Battle Royale on his bookcase and scoffs at its weight as she stuffs it into her purse. A scrap of paper found after a quick rummage through the mail on the hall table and she’s scribbling down her name and number. 

She rolls it up and places in it in the empty space where the book used to live, a satisfied smirk on her face. If this is mistake number three, at least she’ll get a book out of it.

He calls that very night with no time wasted on introductions.

“I expect a full report on that this weekend, Swan. Are you free for dinner on Saturday around 6?”

Maybe this one will pass the boyfriend test after all.


End file.
